


If You Ask Me To

by KAZ2Y5



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Royai - Freeform, Shorts, Smut, Stand Alone, same verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-03-16 14:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3491279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAZ2Y5/pseuds/KAZ2Y5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vignettes of Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye throughout their lives together, some are sad, some are sweet, but that's just how it goes. </p><p>"The Way she shows me I'm hers and she is mine<br/>Open hand or closed fist would be fine<br/>The blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine"</p><p>Songs I listen to while writing this fic:<br/>http://8tracks.com/jasonfunderburker/if-you-ask-me-to</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Goodnight, Roy.

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place sometime during Roy's apprenticeship

“Are you afraid he’s going to come down stairs?”

Roy’s heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice.

“Aren’t you?” He counters, spinning around to see her leaning against the door frame of the kitchen.

“Not especially.” She’s quiet for a second before continuing “As long as he thinks it’s just me he won’t do anything.” She steps forward. He watches in silent awe as she moves into the light coming through the uncovered windows.

Riza doesn’t seem to be any less severe, even in the soft light of the moon. 

“Well, it’s not just you.” He mumbles impertinently.

She raises an eyebrow, as if challenging him to leave if he’s that worried.  

Neither of them move for a moment.

Roy rocks back on his heels and sucks air through his teeth.

Riza sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, and all Roy can think is that she can’t possibly be wearing a bra.

“Why did you want to meet me, Roy?”

“I missed seeing you.”

“We live together, you see me everyday.”

“No, I meant...” His cheeks flush a violent red and he gesticulates awkwardly “Us... Together.”

He falters under the intensity of her look.

“You bribed my classmate to slip me a note to ask me to meet you... so we could fool around?” She ends it like a question, but her tone let’s him know it’s rhetorical.

Silence falls on the room, blanketing her ever changing expressions.

He grasps for words, his embarrassment has him searching for a better reason.

“Yes?” He asks her, unsure what she wants from him, expecting her wrath. When he hatched this plan, he had assumed she would be as desperate for him as he was for her.

He should have known better.

“I thought we agreed that it was a one time  _ mistake. _ ” She throws his words back at him. Her voice is sharp, words articulate, and her eyes pointed at the ground.

“Do you really think that? I feel like such an ass for saying it.”

Riza doesn’t reply, but she does raise her eyes, searching his face for proof of his declamation. “You should focus more on your school work. Then, you wouldn’t have as much time to think back and regret. Goodnight Roy.”

He watches her turn on her heel and march back into the darkness. Her steps more certain, even in the dark, than his could ever be.

She didn’t find what she was looking for; he imagines. He stands there and watches where she just left. Wondering if she’ll turn around, but knowing she won’t. He still waits a few moments before going back to bed.


	2. What's Your Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess these are super short? I'm definitely feeling them though.

In the beginning; before the late nights up laughing, before long afternoons studying together, and before stolen kisses in her father’s study; Riza believed that he’d be gone within the month. 

At thirteen the idea of a revolving door of smart, capable, boys around her age wasn’t the appealing prospect that it was for her friends. So, Riza hardly noticed when Roy’s first spring passed, too excited by the idea of the warm wind in her hair, her bare feet in the warm dark earth, and not having to go to school. And, for a whole week the excitement of summer kept her away, up early and out late swimming or eating ice cream or laying out under the stars with her friends. 

Until her 14th birthday.

“Happy Birthday, Miss Hawkeye.” He’d mumbled, looking down at her from shining coal black eyes. 

Suddenly everything in her world tilted. “What’s your name?” The words tumbled out of her mouth without thinking of their consequences. When she looked back at it as an adult it seemed so incredibly rude. 

Roy blushed, and looking up at him Riza could only thing think about how tall and strong he looked. “Uh... Roy Mustang.”

“You’ve been here a while.”

“You’re just noticing that?” He laughed at her and it was Riza’s turn to blush. 

“Well I didn’t expect you to make it this far.” She admitted, and scuffed the floor with her toes.       

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” He pushed air out of his nose and Riza wonders if it’s a laugh or a sound of annoyance. 

She wants to know, immediately, wonders what the twitch of his eyebrow, the quick pull of the corner of his mouth, and the slight roll of his almost pitch black eyes means. 

“How long?”

“Have I been here? Like four months?”

“Four?!” Riza was so taken aback she can’t help the small laugh that bubbles up. “You must have been pretty busy, I feel like I’ve only seen you twice.”

Roy shrugged, and his hand goes to rub the back of his neck, messing up the black hair that covers it. “Your dad is-” 

“Insane?” The word dropped from her lips without her meaning to say it, and she was struck by how angry she sounded.

“No?” He threw a hand up and it barely skims over her shoulder. “I was going to say that he’s ‘working me to the bone’!” 

“I was calling him insane.” She ran her fingers through the pale blonde bangs that hung in her face like a curtain. “Not accusing you of doing it.’

“Oh.” Roy looked lost for words, and avoided her eyes.

She felt her cheeks heat up. Sharing this resentment with the only other person who could ever understand was more revealing than she would like.

Looking away, she sighed “I’m making dinner for my father so I can go to my friend’s house. He won’t notice if you’d like to come with me.” 

Roy smiled, but her face was turned down and she missed it. “I have a lot of studying to do, but I suppose a few hours wouldn’t kill me. Your dad might, however.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want that. Besides, I’ll probably be there overnight.” 

“I’ll come another time."

The promise made her stomach do flips. 


	3. 2:00am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure if I like this one but I wanted to have their little conversation so that later I could show how she stops saying I love you and starts saying stuff like "I would die without you" when they're older. Stopped it short of full smut because I'm not very good at writing it but I'll probably do real smut when they're older. I should mention, I like to think of Riza as only a year (maybe two) younger than Roy and in this scene he is 18.

It’s almost 2:00am when she silently slips into his room.

Smiling, he doesn’t have to look over to know it’s her. He hurriedly tries to finish the last line of notes on the assignment he’s been working on since they parted after dinner.

“I saw your light was on.” Her voice is right next to him now, and with a final flourish he puts his pen down and turns to her. Her arms are bare, warmly tan against the rose colored lace top that just barely covers her breasts, and poised on her hips. “I figured I’d just come on in.”

He can’t even register the smug look on her face with how distracted he is by her uncovered midriff. And even more by the visible patch of golden blonde hair just barely curling over the top of her matching underwear.

“I bought this just for you, but I’m never going into that store again.” She smiles, slyly and gestures towards him. “May I sit?”

He swallows hard, realizing that she meant his lap.

“Well, I think it was worth it.” He mutters, pushing out his chair to accommodate her sitting with him, and fights hard to quell the shiver that trails up his spine. She’s straddling him.

“Thank you.” She presses her forehead to his and bites her lip to stop her smile.

“I should be the one thanking you.”  He whispers, his hands ghosting up and down her arms.

“Well...”  She deliberates, chuckling a little and then pressing her lips to the tip of his nose “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

Her voice comes from a low deep place that he’s never heard before, and he can practically feel the blood diverting to his crotch. “This is enough.” He wonders if she can hear how turned on he is just by his voice. He places his hands on her hips, his fingers making small dents in the soft flesh there.  “Unless you wanna do more, because i’ll gladly accept.”

“Well I didn’t come here just to look good.” She’s almost purring.

He leans in quickly and kisses her. Their noses bump first but they laugh and realign themselves. He brings one hand to cup her cheek and sweeps his tongue along her bottom lip to gain access.

She opens up to him, and Roy is suddenly reminded of being younger and wondering what the big deal about ‘french kissing’ was. He would smile, but Riza takes the moment to adjust herself, and her inner thigh runs against his erection. He moans into her kiss and tightens his grip on her hips.

At the sound, Riza pulls her head back unexpectedly. He watches the smirk form on her pink, now wet lips, and something hot coils up in the bottom of his stomach. She bites her lower lip and repeats the motion of her hips experimentally, rubbing the lacy underwear against where his erection is now pressing against his pant leg expectantly.

He takes a shuddering breath and fights against the urge to buck his pelvis against hers.

“Do you wanna lay down?” He asks, his voice feels too loud for the small room.

She shakes her head in agreement, golden eyes dark, and he can only imagine that her expression must match his. Cheeks flushed bright pink, pupils dilated, mouth red and wanting.

She stands up slowly, putting her hands on his chest to steady herself as she swings her leg over.

“I did kind of have a reason for coming here... like this.” She gestures to the matching underwear, and then holds her hand out to help him up. Her grip is strong, but he notices a little sweat to her palms, and wonders whether she’s nervous about something.

He swallows hard, letting her pull him up. “Okay?”

She brings their lips together again, gently, and has to stand on her tiptoes to do so. While her face is right in front of his she whispers in the same low voice from earlier. “Take your clothes off and i’ll be right back.”

Roy’s body goes from hot to cold and back to hot so quickly he thinks he might be dying. “W-what?”

Riza is gone without answering, and he’s left staring after her like an idiot.

It takes him a second to collect his thoughts, what with his blood pounding in his ears practically deafening him, but he springs to action quickly. He pulls his shirt over his head, losing his balance and falling on the bed. He realizes that he’s sitting on a pile of pens and books, and panics. He throws the covers off his bed and starts pulling the books, pens, used socks, and shoving them in the slit between the bed and the wall.

“Good enough.” He growls and starts fumbling with the buttons on his pants.

The door clicks open as soon as his slacks hit the floor.

“What took you so long, you’re not even done?” She’s smiling and has her small hand grasping something to shield it.

He shrugs and reaches his hand out to beckon her towards him. “What do you have there?” He asks, and worry starts to set in.

“Sit down.” She commands, and he knows better than to deny her when she uses that voice. “Roy, you’re leaving in a few weeks.”

He swallows hard at the reminder of his deadline. While her father might not know, Riza is more than aware of his plans to join the military. Whether she agrees or not.

She continues “And you know I love you.”

His heart still skips when she says the words, he still doesn’t believe that he deserves this wonderful girl. He thinks back to the sweat on her palms, and the hidden thing in her hand. “Riza...”

She puts up a finger to quiet him, but looks away as she brings up the clenched fist at her side. “I thought... I thought that if I held onto this, that it wouldn’t hurt as much when you left. But you’re already... tangled up in everything in my life. I can’t even brush my hair without thinking about you, and it’s going to kill me when you leave.”

Guilt replaces any emotion that he had been feeling this night, and even his arms feel heavy with the weight of it when he reaches out and pulls her into his lap. “It’s the same for me.”

“But you don’t have to live here.” She sounds level. No particular pitch or change to her voice, but Roy knows she’s upset.

“I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. It’s just the truth. You’re leaving and... with all the riots in Ishval... you might never come back.”

“Don’t think like that.”

“I’m just being practical. It’s just that... before you leave there’s something I wanted to share with you. Something I don’t want to miss out on.” She tilts her head and he obliges her a kiss, his stomach still turning from guilt.

He feels her hand open and breaks the kiss to look down, uncomprehending in the face of the square foil packet she reveals.

They sit in silence for a moment before realization has his cheeks scarlet. He sucks in breath so hard there’s almost a whistle against his teeth.

“I want to experience sex for the first time with you. I don’t want to share this memory with anyone but my best friend. Honestly...” She moves so she’s straddling him again, but her cheeks are just as red as his when the words leave her mouth in a whisper. “I haven’t ever wanted to have sex with someone like I want to with you.”

Roy shakes his head yes several times before finally speaking. “If you knew even a fraction of the time I spend imagining having sex with you... you’d think I was a pervert.”

“I already do.”

“I’m serious. Sometimes it feels like it’s all I think about.” He chuckles, but it’s nervous, and he’s allowing his eyes to wander over the smooth skin on her chest, and what he can see of her stomach. He wraps his arms around her waist.

Riza bites her lip to hide a smile and all but forces him to look her in the eyes, her finger gently tilting his chin back up. “I think about you almost every night before I go to sleep.” The implication is there, heavy just in the way she says, but also in the lowering of her eyelids and the slight rock of her hips against his. “I think about taking you inside me.”

It’s so quiet Roy actually believes he imagined her saying it for a moment, but her face is so red that he knows she must have actually said it.

Suddenly, it’s too hot to breathe, and Roy feels like his brain is firing off too many electrical impulses all at once.

He presses his lips to hers hard, to both distract himself and because he can’t imagine there being another second where their skin isn’t touching. Riza kisses back, and pulls on his shoulders to bring them down to the bed. It takes them a minute to reposition themselves comfortably and when they do he’s leaning over her, one arm propped up to hold him above her. It’s like the kiss never ended and Roy begins to palm the lace covered breast that he isn’t covering with the way he’s leaning over her.

He rubs his erection against her thigh and shudders. “I want to be inside you.” He mutters, mirroring her words from earlier, and moving his hand from her breast to tug on the band of her lacey underwear.

“That’s kind of the whole point.” She gives a small laugh, but begins shifting and helping him take the bottoms off all the way. When they’re off she moves to her bra, and Roy watches with baited breath, as he always does, as her breasts fall weightily out of the constricting rose colored fabric. 

They’ve made it this far before. Been naked, been in bed, but the knowledge that this is going all the way, that this is everything he’s imagined about and anticipated makes his skin feel like it’s humming with excitement. He wraps his arms around her and starts kissing her more slowly, trying to calm his nerves. 

Riza tangles her hands in his hair, pulling his mouth closer to kiss him harder and his excitement has him responding in kind, he sneaks his hand down and starts stroking the golden curls around her outer lips. He smirks and pulls his head away from the kiss “You’ll need to be nice and wet for me, won’t you?”

Riza laughs and nods, and he realizes it’s relieved and that's she’s just as nervous as him and it only makes him want her more. 


	4. Courtesy of Roy Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really really really like this one a whole lot. Like enough that I'm thinking of maybe writing a standalone piece going into a little more in depth.

Riza Hawkeye hadn’t had a real birthday party since her 17th birthday. By 18 her father was dying and she was all alone. 19, 20, 21; all in Ishval and she’d lost the desire to celebrate anything. At this point in her life, the only thing that this day signified was the beginning of her following the Colonel. She spared a little time for nostalgia in the morning but otherwise her actual birthday was, in it of itself, neither something she dreaded or looked forward to.

Regardless of the apathy she felt towards her actual birth, there was always one thing she did indulge in (and truly looked forward to) on the weekend following the warm summer day that marked the now 29 years since her birth.

She allowed the Colonel to take her out to dinner.

It was a game they played in the office. Everyone was offered a birthday meal courtesy of Colonel Mustang, but she was the only one whose dinner he routinely attended. Of course he did have to attended the other’s celebrations every once in a great while, but playing impartial had never been easy for the Colonel. Thankfully all his subordinates could pretend well enough not to follow his gaze to find her, knew not to see the way their hands brushed when they walked side by side, understood not to notice when he would lean into her and whisper. She was immensely grateful for their discretion, but found herself wondering why they had bothered to put their romance on hold if he was only going to act inappropriately at work anyway.

She thought these things often, but so much more on her birthday.

Distractedly, she stepped out into the bright outdoors, her shoulders soaking up the sun they so rarely saw.

She dressed up for The Colonel on these birthday dinners, shirts always covering her whole back, but her muscular arms allowed to breath, and often her toned legs as well. She so rarely dressed in anything other than her uniform, so she had treated herself to the light blue frock last month, knowing full well when the next opportunity to wear it would arise.

She had loved the pearl buttons on the front, and she knew the Colonel would love its compliance to his ‘mini skirt’ fixation.

The transition from the cool darkness of her apartment building into the blinding 3:00pm  sunlight, temporarily affected her sight, blocking him from her view temporarily.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye.”

“Colonel Mustang.” She responds in kind, and salutes him mockingly.  

“Those are hardly the regulation blues, Lieutenant, but blue, in all forms, truly is your color.”

“Careful, Sir, that’s dangerously close to flirting with a subordinate.”

The Colonel laughed and Riza is reminded again just how handsome this man really is.

“What’s on the agenda for tonight, Colonel.” She asked, quietly coming to stand beside where he’d leaned against a black car, most likely borrowed just for today. She allowed her arm to brush against his gently.

Roy smirked at her “I have a surprise.”

“So, the same as every year?”

“It’s a really good surprise.” He promised, his smirk now a full blown grin.

“I don’t trust that expression, Sir.” She muttered, but got in the car when he opened the door for her.

It’s the same routine year after year.

A small restaurant almost a half an hour outside of wherever they’re stationed, Central Command at the moment, a bed at a hotel under a pseudonym, an evening where they pretend to forget about the reasons they’re not together.

Never the same restaurant, hotel, or name twice. Paid cash, in full, up front.

Riza didn't mind it... so much. She supposed the secrecy and the sneaking around twice a year on their birthdays is better than nothing at all. Sometimes she imagined, usually while lying next to him in bed and watching him sleep, what it would be like being a real couple. Different than when they were fooling around as children. She thought it would be better, but wondered how. They’ve never been able to just be together. She didn’t allow herself to think about it often.

The drive is quiet, save for a few muted comments about the weather or work. Their hands found each other silently, almost like a habit. They didn’t have to say anything, really.

Riza was just glad they could have these nights.


	5. Murderer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this one, but I wrote it in a half hour and posted it immediately after so i'm sorry if their are any huge errors.

Roy comes into the office that morning with a knot in his stomach he can’t quite figure out. Almost as if his body is preparing to expel unwanted contents. Not quite nausea, but the beginning of some sickness. He wipes his clammy hands on his dark blue slacks for what seems like the millionth time as he makes his way down the hallway towards the door to his office.  
The handle is brass, and scratched, and cold when he goes to open it. He has to wipe his hand on his pants again to get enough traction on the knob to turn the latch.  
He’s not surprised that everyone is there before him, and the phrase ‘at ease’ is out of his mouth before anyone can even move to salute. He doesn’t mean for it to sound so gruff, but he’s more focused on just moving one foot in front of the other on the unusually long walk from the door to his cluttered desk.  
He can feel everyone watching him, but Her eyes bore into him more than anyone else’s.  
He makes a specific point of not meeting Her, he assumes, narrowed eyes when he finally makes it to his seat. When he sits down the chair is hard but it still feels like he could sink into the cold wood. If only to get away from the weight of that particular stare.  
He forces his spine to straighten, and moves his arms deliberately to grab the first piece of paper on the ever present stack of paperwork in front of him. Suddenly, it just feels like too much work. There’s always papers for him to sign. Always problems for him to fix. There is no end, and no rest.  
He sighs, and it’s much shakier than he meant for it to be,  
He leans on his elbow and tries to fake concentration as he hears the scrape of a chair on hardwood.  
_Murderer._  
The word feels like a real slap against his face, and he sucks in a breath while placating himself with a mantra of _'no one really said that. ‘_  
He thinks that he should have known what was coming, and feels his stomach churn more angrily.  
Breda is at his desk with another piece of paper, but he can’t hear any of the words falling out of the square jawed man’s mouth.  
He reaches for the paper. He watches as Breda turns to Her and when she opens her mouth to respond to whatever he’s saying all he can think is that he knows what she sounds like when she’s screaming in pain. He knows how her muscles lock up to fend off the heat of his flames. He has seen the way her teeth clench when a sob threatens to rack through her body.  
The paper in his hand begins to wobble slightly, but not distractingly, and he continues to watch her talk to Breda, but he can only see tears streaming down her face.  
The whole room smells like burning flesh, and the hard sandalwood beneath his feet shifts effortlessly into sand.  
Breda disappears and Roy is no longer in the cool climate controlled office, but in the desert.  
Everything around him is on fire, and the sun’s beating only manages to have him shivering in the carnage.  
Men, women, and god even children, are screaming around him.  
Murderer. A woman cries as she clutches onto the almost burnt black body of something so small Roy doesn’t want to know what it once was. Murderer. This time a gray haired man screams from inside the flames of what was once his home. Murderer. He can hear the words fall from Her mouth with such acid that he can only stare at the silvery white gloves and balk.  
He wants to reply, wants to apologize, wants to join them. Knows his only repentance can be in death.  
He can hear Her voice above everything else. “Sir.” She is calm, underneath him in her tent, her shirt off and her back unmarred by his hands. He knows she believes the tattoo is abhorred, but the idea of what he does to her is what makes the acid sting at the back of his throat  
He finally manages to think the words “I’m sorry,” but nothing leaves his mouth. Her fawn colored eyes fill to the brim, but she does not allow herself to cry. The olive drab tent protects them from the sun’s direct berating, but the heat still suffocated him.  
He can’t tell if he’s sweating or crying. He doesn’t know whether the pain in his throat is from bile, or tears.  
He can’t breath. Everything is black, save for a swirling vortex of red eyes filled with hate, filled with tears, filled with confusion. Tawny brown eyes filled to the brim with trust about to be betrayed.

“Sir.”  
“Riza.” Her name, like a sacred prayer, spills forth from a mouth that doesn’t deserve the redemption.  
The heat of the desert dissipates as the heat of her body closes in on him. There’s a cool hand on his cheek, and he leans into it. His whole body sags against her, and he can’t help but feel so desperate and just... disgusted with himself.  
He doesn’t move but, he feels like his heart restarts itself, when her hand drags against his head, fingers moving through his messy dark hair quickly.  
“Colonel?” Her voice is softer and more kind than a murderer like him could ever deserve but it’s like balm over the stinging sand of his memories, and she smells like coffee, citrus, and the fresh cotton scent of her detergent and it’s overwhelming and comforting. Just a little bit painful, but he feels like he deserves that at least.  
“Lieutenant.” He responds in kind, already feeling pathetic for using such an informality before, but his voice is barely there and muffled against her navy blue jacket. His face is pressed securely into her stomach, with her arms wrapped around his head protectively.  
He opens his eyes, or he begins to see he’s not entirely sure which. No one is in the office with them.  
He repeats her title in admonishment of himself.  
She leans down and presses her lips to his head quickly, like it never happened, and whispers with what he can only describe as an obviously misplaced affection. “Oh, Roy.”  
She let’s the other men back into the office and the day continues. He can’t remember anything after leaving work the night before, and he doesn’t quite know how he got into work this morning, but he knows whose home he’ll be going to after they leave for the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also of course the flashback one would be the longest.


	6. Small and Sacred

She gets sick for seemingly no reason on a dark fall, practically winter, morning. The tiles of her bathroom are a cruel reminder of the change of seasons, bitterly cold and hard beneath her weakened knees. She tells herself not to think much of it; getting sick from anxiety has been an issue since childhood, though one she thought she’d had under control.  
She doesn’t feel particularly anxious, however, until after she’s already thrown up.  
She goes to work like normal and even manages to nag the General (mentally corrected to Colonel, because that title has taken on a meaning of it’s own) about paperwork to pretend like nothing is wrong, but there’s that slight wrinkle on his forehead that let’s her know she wasn’t entirely convincing.  
Riza doesn’t let the suspicion form words in her mind at first, but that night she has a dream of bloody hands trying to soothe a screaming baby. Wakes up in a cold sweat, her limbs shaking under the blue sheets of her otherwise uninhabited bed.  
It’s been five weeks since Roy’s birthday. Five weeks since he had moved within her so sweetly on the too soft mattress of that Aerugonian bed and breakfast. She could still feel the heat of his body between her legs if she let her mind wander. She doesn’t.  
She goes to work for the whole week, expectantly awaiting the arrival of her menstrual cycle, which is later than it’s ever been before.  
She rationalizes. She’s had a lot on her mind, what with rebuilding Isval, and the ever looming fear that’s cropped up since the events of the promised day. She looks at Roy and, god, sometimes all she can feel is the crippling terror of watching him be forced through the human transmutation circle. She knows she’s been stressed, too stressed even, so she relies on that to comfort her.  
_It’s just stress_ , becomes her daily mantra, until finally she has that Saturday to herself.  
She even whispers it to herself sitting in the waiting room of the base’s medical wing. Manages to pee in a small cup while still chanting it in her head. Walks out of the medical clinic and drives home without thinking of anything but; _it’s just stress_.  
Roy Mustang is, of course, at her small apartment when she arrives. He had let himself in before her and is looking around at her unpacked boxes with something vaguely reminiscent of humor.  
“I’m glad to see you have faith in our reconstruction efforts.” He’s smirking, but she can see the concern written in the way he holds himself back from her, and in the worried look in his coal black eyes.  
She likes to think of herself as strong, so when the urge to fall into his arms bubbles up within her she tampers it down and bows her head. “I’ve been very busy lately, there’s been no time to unpack. Sir.” The honorific seems inappropriate given their situation, _her situation_ , but she feels like the want for him will claw it’s way out of her if she doesn’t put space between them.  
Looking at him has her wondering about genetics, and the possibilities of his eyes being a dominate trait. She can’t let herself have that, so she makes physical space between them as well. Which, granted, in her apartment is a challenge.  
“Are you-”  
“I’m fine.”  
She realizes after she cuts him off that nothing could sound less like _fine_ , but she soldiers on.  
Roy falters. He opens his mouth and closes it, several times, trying to find the right words to say.  
“Have I done anything to upset you?” he finally manages, standing up straighter and putting his hands behind his back.  
“No.” She doesn’t offer him anything else, but she desperatly wants to. “I have a full day planned, General, and it won’t due for word to get around that you’re visiting your subordinates on their days off.” She hints at him leaving, trying to keep that edge of formality as a barrier between them.  
He sighs dramatically and runs a hand through his already messy black hair. He gives her a look and she knows he wishes she would just tell him what was going on but... she just can’t.  
If it’s true she knows she has to... she shudders at the turn of phrase ‘take care of it’ but can’t think of anything more appropriate. If it’s not true, she wants to keep the idea of what their little family could be all to herself.  
She bites her lip when she realizes she’s being selfish, but still moves to open the door to let Roy out.  
He looks so angry in that instance that Riza strains to stop herself from flinching.  
“If I said I wasn’t leaving until you said what was bothering you, would you tell me?” His voice is so dark, and now so close to her that Riza looks up shocked. Her hand goes to her hip holster as a warning, not that she could ever do anything.  
“It wouldn’t be very wise to make those kinds of comments to the person wielding a gun, General.”  
He pinches the bridge of his nose and looks towards the ceiling. “I’ll leave then.” He mutters, but when he passes her in the doorway he brings his hand to brush along her shoulder. “I lo-” He stops himself, smiling sadly “I hope you feel better by monday, Captain Hawkeye.”  
When she shuts the door, she presses her back against the wall, and slides down till shes on the floor.  
She sleeps for the rest of the day.  
On sunday she does all of her errands, but the doctor never calls. She spends the day imagining what Roy and her would be like as parents. She spends the night dreaming of all the children she watched being killed in Ishval.  
On Monday the doctor doesn’t call in the hours between 0400 and 0630 but she didn’t expect him to, and she knows he’ll leave a message, or God forbid he'll just call her at the office.  
When she arrives at the newly finished headquarters at 0700 she’s convinced herself to keep the baby.  
When she sits down at her desk at 0715 she’s decided that it would be impossible.  
When the General arrives, late as always, at 0800 she’s comes to the conclusion that she wouldn’t deserve a child, that neither of them do.  
She’s busy weighing the pros and cons of telling him at all when he calls her name loudly.  
“Captain Hawkeye; if you aren’t feeling well enough to focus on your tasks maybe you should go home for the day?” There’s a malice in his voice that she assumes she deserves, but can’t really bring herself to feel guilty about.  
“I’m fine, Sir, just a bit tired. Did you need something?”  
The office is quiet, except for the nervous tapping of one of the new 2nd Lieutenants (who is blonde and smokes, but will never be Jean Havoc).  
The exchange between the superior officers is surprising, and charges the room with a tense energy that threatens to crack.  
“No, but your phone has rung twice.”  
The third ring interrupts his begrudging admittance.  
She doesn’t even reach to answer it, but waits for a fourth ring and then leaps.  
“General Mustang’s office, Captain Hawkeye speaking.  
“Captain Riza Hawkeye?” The voice confirms.  
She nods, swallowing, before remembering that you need to make noise to be heard over the phone. “Yes.”  
“This is Warrant Officer Daniels from medical, just calling about the results of your test on saturday.”  
“I’m a bit preoccupied...”  
“Well then I’ll be brief. The test was negative, you’re not pregnant.”  
“Well, then, thank you. Have a nice day.”  
She sets the phone down in the cradle gently, and is surprised that her hands aren’t shaking as badly as her mind seems to be.  
Roy clears his throat “And who was that.”  
“I think I actually will go home, Sir, suddenly I feel ill.”  
Her eyes are closed, and even though she’s screaming at herself that _it’s better this way_ , she still feels like she lost something precious. Something small and sacred.  
Roy doesn’t say anything, but she get’s up any way.  
“I’ll have the proper paperwork on your desk at 0730 tomorrow morning.” She salutes, her spine rigid despite feeling like every part of her body has evaporated and left her completely empty.  
She doesn’t have to look at him to see the worry on his face, so she doesn’t. Instead turning on her heel and leaving the office brusquely.  
She has a family to mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is trash, but I really wanted to write about it. I guess my own head canon is that they never have kids. I think they would both be amazing parents, and that undoubtedly children would make them very happy, but I don't think they'd ever allow themselves to have any children. Or at least, that by the time they could have kids and are emotionally ready to have kids that it would be too late for biological children.


	7. Devotion to a False God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is very short but i liked it so :P

Her father had always seemed more god than human. A distant rumble of thunder when she had disobeyed the rules, but nothing so stable as a ‘parental figure’.  
His throne was the attic study; ceilings vaulted and adorned with decades worth of manuscripts, books whose publications spanned centuries, and in the center of these book shelves one enormous circular window which had it’s thick green curtains perpetually drawn and grayed with dust. She was not allowed in this study while he was working; except to bring him a meal he would most likely ignore, or to clean something he couldn’t be bothered to deal with himself.  
His altar was her knees; so boney that they bruised when they knocked together for much of her childhood after her mother’s passing, so calloused from hours on them scrubbing that it no longer hurt to fall onto them after being smitten by his hand, and yet she would still slide down onto those knees with her head bowed outside his door in a silent prayer. _Do you remember when you were a father?_  
His Holy Scripture was his alchemic legacy; scarred across the pale plains of her back, words the same color of dried blood rolling with her shoulder blades and weighing down her heart, the burden spanning across the whole back side of her torso so that she could never enjoy life unhindered again. She thought of her father’s Holy Scripture every summer when she could no longer swim, thought of his heavy hands against her back whenever she imagined taking a lover, and could feel the weight of her loyalty every time she undressed.  
Even when he died she still could not wholly part with the religion of devotion to him, but shared her heavy load with Roy Mustang.


	8. But, Of Course, She Would

There are times when they need each other that don’t fit neatly into their twice a year birthday meetings. There are nights so dark that they need to follow the other’s voice just to find a light. There are days so long that they need to wear each other ragged just to sleep.

She expected it the night of Maes’ funeral but it did not come. No two am phone call consisting of only ragged breathing and a name, no light knock on her door ten minutes following, and he certainly did not let himself into her hotel room as he would her apartment.  

She waited and he did not come.

She needed and he did not come.

She grieved and he did not come.

She knew his pain would be exponential compared to hers so she did not call him the first night.  She would see how he was the following morning and decide how to proceed from there. She would not let herself succomb to the sadness of losing an important comrade. More than a comrade; a friend. She could not pretend, even in her own mind, that her pain was more important than his, but mostly she felt like she could not waiver for those Hughes would most want her strength to help.

She told herself all that first night that she would see him in the morning. She stayed up folding and packing her belongings, the loss too strong for her to sleep through it. She left the hotel at 0600 and went to the market. She found premade casseroles and bought one that reminded her of something she was given after her father passed. Buttery crust over steaming vegetables and soft meat; food to keep you from starving in your grief.

She had known she would, for Hughes, and was making her way to his home with her casserole dish by 0730.

Children did not sleep in while mourning, but widows should.

She knocked on the door twice, loud and hard enough to redden her knuckles.

There were several loud cries from Elicia emanating from the living area and it took several moments for Gracia to make it to the door.

“Lt. Hawkeye.” Riza noted the relief in her voice when the petite woman sighed her name.

“Mrs. Hughes, I thought you might need a hand.” Riza’s voice hadn’t changed, she is not surprised. Her voice is always calm, and has remained steady and sure through worse than personal loss.

Gracia looked behind her, where Riza could see that Elicia was inconsolable. She looked at Gracia and took in the bags under her newly dim and watery eyes. “I can watch her... if you’d like to sleep.” Riza is not one for affectionate displays, so she kept both hands gripped firmly on the dish and did not caress the shoulder of her friend’s widow. Though she sorely wanted to reach out to her.

“I think... I should stay awake.” Gracia mumbled, but waved Riza through the door and shut it securely behind her. Locking both the knob and the dead bolt.

Riza nodded and did not smile reassuringly like she thought she ought to be expected to, because there was no reason to smile.

“Roy is in the guest bedroom.” Gracia told her without the usual smirk that had always accompanied her husbands needling of the couple.  

“He’ll be okay. Will you?”

Gracia started laughing.

Gracia started crying.

She’s not quite sure the order, but soon the other woman is doing a combination of both. “Yes. No. I have to be I guess.”

Riza scrutinized the brunette in front of her and gave one firm head shake “Go to sleep, Gracia.”  The use of her given name is the small bit of comfort Riza allowed to slip into her order. “Did you sleep at all last night? Did Elicia?”

“She was asleep when we got home from the graveyard.” Uttering the word brings a pallor to Gracia’s face, and a fresh round of sobs rips through her.

She took Gracia to her her room, and left her to her pain. Riza could handle this. She ignored the soundly shut guest bedroom and went back down to comfort Elicia.

The day wore on.

She heard stirrings from upstairs but no one ever came down.

Elicia stopped crying when Riza suggested they go outside.

She watched, and was surprised at the anger she felt, as the sun slowly made it’s trek across the sky.

It wasn’t fair. Not for any of them, but especially for a child. To have to lose a parent. To have to watch helplessly while your remaining parent falls apart.

She doesn’t let herself think about her own childhood, but knows that her emotions are stemming from shared experience.

When Riza finally corralled Elicia in for dinner, Roy was sitting at the window, watching them.

She served the casserole she had bought in silence. Making a plate for Elicia, and Gracia, but knowing better than to make one for Roy. It would just be a waste. She didn’t speak to him when she gave the child her food, and did not speak to him when she woke Gracia and brought her down to the table. She held the woman to her side, sleep and despair weakening her legs momentarily.

“Thank you, Lt. Hawkeye.” The woman attempted a smile, and Riza attempted a return. She watched while they ate, feeling the Colonel’s eyes on her, and finally looked back at him.

She took inventory.

His hair was no messier than when he usually awoke, but perhaps a little dirtier.

Still wearing his uniform, sans jacket.

Eyes looked sunken, but bags would not form for another two, inevitable, sleepless nights.

Shoulders were not slumped but his chest was not pushed out.

Lip bitten raw. His habit of chewing his lip to stop tears as ineffective as always.

Bruise forming on jaw. Must have hit himself at some point.

They made eye contact, neither one wanting to really look away. She could never imagine what Gracia was going through. All she could do was try to remember all the little things she could see on his face, and try to avoid thinking about if it had been him.

She fought the desire to press her head to his chest and smell the grave dirt on his dirty uniform. She wondered whether he was trying to memorize her as well.

“It’s getting late.” She announced, more to him than to Gracia.

“You’re right. My mother should be coming in sometime tonight, so if you’d like to leave you’ve already done more than enough.” The sleep has done amazing things for Gracia’s composure.

“I would love to stay, but we need to leave in the morning.”

“Of course.” Gracia bowed her head and lapsed back into silence.

Riza moved to stand beside Elicia, running her hand over the top of the girl’s hair. She refrains from saying ‘be good’ all sentiments of that ilk are lost on three year olds. Instead, she pressed a kiss into the brown hair and turned on her heel. “Colonel?”

“Goodbye, Gracia.” Roy came to the woman’s side and stood at his absolute tallest. “What I said last night, I meant. I will find who did this.”

Riza shut her eyes. She knew that part was coming. Knew Roy, sweet naive Roy who wanted only the best for everyone, would shoulder the burden of his friend’s murder. He would slip into this responsibility just like he did every other one he had. He wouldn't  expect her to help.

But, of course, she would.

 

 


	9. Yuletide

He doesn't think she beautiful. She's scrawny in a way most 15 year olds are already beginning to outgrow. Her hair is cut shorter than he's ever seen on a girl and her bangs are always in her face, but that he's pretty sure she does on purpose. Her face is sharp and pointed, and even though it normally a mask of calm sometimes when he catches her in the corner of his eye she looks so mad it's frightening.  
He first sees the anger one night when he's helping her clean up after dinner. Normally they eat alone, at the small rickety table in her kitchen. Sometimes, very rarely, his master will join them for dinner and they will eat at the large stately dining room table in an otherwise empty room. There is a chandelier but he has never seen the room lit by anything other than a candelabra in the center of the table. Three almost burnt down candles offering a menacing glow to the angular face of Master Hawkeye. He berates them through these meals. His way with words is almost as destructive as the alchemy he refuses to teach him. Roy never dealt with the verbal lashings well, his metaphorical line in the sand more definite and much easier to cross. Roy had always assume, from her silence, that Riza was just used to it, and he even wondered if she believed some of the scoldings her father would give her.   
_The meat is too dry, the house is filthy, can’t you do anything right, what’s wrong with you?_  
The meal finishes with Master Hawkeye grabbing the rest of the bottle of wine he’d started and storming off to his study, still complaining about Roy’s lack of talent, and Riza’s lack of basic intelligence. They sit in silence for a moment, watching each other but really just listening for the sound of the slamming study door. When it finally comes Riza sighs and stands from the table. She mumbles about cleaning and practically staggers away from the table. He follows her. The kitchen is practically glowing in contrast to the dining room, and in the light he can see clearly, not just the rouge to her cheeks but the unchecked fury on her face. Roy takes a step back unintentionally, shocked and a little scared of this newfound rage. He stops thinking that she believes her father, and starts wondering how she controls herself. 

He doesn’t think she’s ugly. She’s lithe, even if her knees are knobby, and is always very aware of her body and what it’s doing. Her hair may be short, but it’s almost stylish and when she pushes her bangs out of her face to look at him, his heart pounds; but he’s pretty sure she does that on purpose. Her face is thin but it’s intelligent looking, and sometimes he wonders about the shape of her lips. Nothing specific really, just their general existence.   
He thinks about her lips a lot when she explains parts of her school work to him. She takes history much more seriously than he ever did, so even though he’s interested in the Xerxes ruins, he finds his mind wandering arbitrarily to the thin line of her small pink lips. They’re thin, but most Amestrians have thinner lips, and with her golden hair and honey brown eyes she couldn’t be anything but Amestrian. They don’t part much as she explains to him how her teacher didn’t even know that the ruins existed, and how she’d had to explain to her class the story of The Philosopher from the East. He likes her lips, he decides, when she halfway through one of her many thoughtful silences. He like that they’re pink except when she gently pulls one beneath her teeth and they become closer to her skin tone. He likes the small frowns and smirks that barely register anywhere else. He likes watching her mouth make ‘O’s especially, likes the little bit of teeth and tongue.  
 _Are you even listening?_  
He watches her mouth form the words but still didn’t expect her to ask that. He sputters and his eyes are finally meeting hers and he realizes she’s smiling, in her own way. He is, of course, listening and he assures her of this in no uncertain terms. He knows the burning of his cheeks is betraying him. He watches her lips again, and blushes hotter as he watches her flash a little bit of teeth with a smile.  
 _Why are you staring at my lips? _  
She asks the question like she already knows the answer. Which Roy decides is annoying, even though he’s much more embarrassed than anything else. Denying any culpability in staring at her lips he prompts her to finish explaining myths about the ruins, which she then reminds him that she had already finished talking about.__

__Begrudgingly, he admits that she is cute. He watches her walk, admiring the swing of her hips but also liking the the way she always makes sure she has a firm stance. He wants to push the bangs out of her face for her so much that he imagines reaching over and doing it at least three times an hour. Her face is not so angular anymore, but even if it was, he starts to notice that it was never unpleasant because she wasn't beautiful, but because she refused to be beautiful in the way that he wanted.  
For someone so reserved, she is surprisingly contrary. He marvels, she described it as pouting, at how she doesn’t have to say anything and he already knows she doesn’t like her gift. “You love the color blue.” He insists, his eyes trained on the slight wrinkle in her forehead.   
“I do.”   
“Do you like it?”  
She doesn’t respond, instead bites at her lower lip and runs her hand over the lace trim on the collar. The silence that follows his question spans what feels like an entire lifetime. He watche intently as she feels the fabric, not even pulling the shirt all the way out of the garment box.  
“It’s too expensive for a Yuletide gift, Roy, I’m not even religious.”  
“I didn’t know you needed to be religious to give your,” His voice drops low, and a blush warms the apples of his cheeks “girlfriend a present.”   
“On religious holidays you probably should be. I’ll never have occasion to wear it.” Her hand flits over the lace again, and he thinks maybe it might be with admiration.   
“I’ll give you occasion to wear it.” His passion makes the words seem aggressive and she smirks at the world's strangest sounding threat. “And anyway, that doesn’t matter.” He puts a hand on her shoulder, feeling the weight of her stare as he trains his eyes on her lips “Do you like the shirt?”  
She takes a moment to consider the question, again, and gives him a small gracious smile he knows is just to placate him. “I think the fabric feels like a dress my mother used to wear, and it makes me a bit sad.” She admits this in a whisper, but then clears her throat. “If you’d like me to wear it I can oblige, it is beautiful, but I don’t really see the reason for spending so much money on clothes.”  
Roy’s heart aches with their shared sadness. Holidays can make even small things sad, and the things that normally make you sad seem monumental.  
“I don’t want anymore clothes for presents, Roy.” She pulls the shirt up to look at it in full view, and then sighs. “You have fashion taste of some 50ish woman from Central.”  
“I was raised by a 50 year old woman in central.” He reminds her. Her joke causing his cheeks to flame, again. “And you have the fashion taste of a homesteader.” He gently barbs, but moves his hand from her shoulder to slip it around her waist.  
“At least homesteaders a practical.”  
Roy snorts and Riza places the shirt in the box gently and leans into his hug, her own arms reaching around to clasp around his waist.   
“What did you get me?”  
“I cook you dinner every night. I think that’s gift enough.”  
“Sometimes I cook dinner.”  
“Sometimes you burn dinner.”  
Roy narrows his gaze and accesses her “Seriously though...”  
Riza chuckles lightly and then pulls a small perfectly wrapped box out of her pocket and hands it to him, He doesn’t even have time to ask what it is, or open the package when she blurts it out. “It’s a book.  
“Way to ruin the surprise .”  
She just shrugs while he rips the packaging open and reads, then rereads, the front cover. “A book about codes and codebreaking?”  
“I thought it would be interesting.”  
“Did you buy it for me or you?” He sniggers, but he’s already thumbing through the pages, enraptured.  
“A little of both. Do you like it?”  
“Of course, but I would like anything you bought me.” He answers honestly, dragging his eyes away from the pages and leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead.   
“A small comfort.”  
He places the book down and renews the strength of his hug, pulling her close to his chest and mumbling “I love you.”  
“I know.”_ _


	10. A Hoarse Familiarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory sex chapter y'all

“Do you think he knew?” He asks her, gently strumming his fingers down her exposed back.  
It is so early in the morning that the sun has not even begun to rise.   
They are still damp with sweat and entwined together on his bed.  
His mind, like always, has found itself far away from where his body is.  
“Do I think who knew what?” Her voice is muffled in the crook of his neck, he can feel the warmth of her words sink into his skin. It feels like a brand. One he would wear proudly.  
“Your father, do you think he knew about us?”   
He feels the crinkle of her cheeks as she smiles. “Absolutely.”  
He cranes his neck back to look at her, his brow furrowed. All he can see is the lighter shade of shadow where her straw colored hair falls onto his chest. “Really?”  
“We weren’t exactly subtle.” She stirs at his movement, adjusting herself to lean on an elbow for support. “Sneaking around the house all hours of the night, jumping apart whenever he walked into a room, I swear I gave up brushing my hair entirely because I knew you were just going to mess it up.”  
It’s too dark to make out finite details but he doesn’t need sight to know what her smirk looks like. Not that he’d ever want to go back to being without it.   
“I thought we were pretty good at hiding.”  
“Roy...” She laughs uncharacteristically loudly for a second, but in reality it is still just barely more than a low chuckle. “You weren’t even good at pretending we weren’t together when we were adults. Why do you think no one on the team was surprised when we told them?”  
Roy sputters, his cheeks heating up despite himself.  
“It’s cute though.” Her voice is so low that Roy has to strain to make out the words, but he can imagine the pink her cheeks must have taken on.  
“Well I’m a very cute person, Lt. Hawkeye.” He teases her, reaching his arms out to pull her back to his chest. He revels in the feel of her bare chest against his own.   
“I haven’t been a Lt. in a long time.” She admonishes lightly, her hands snaking around him to run through his hair.   
She kisses him before he can retort, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest.  
Though he’s still thinking about her answer.  
She breaks the kiss to press a small flurry of pecks on his jaw.   
“But how do you know he knew?”  
“Because he wasn’t an idiot.”  
“He never said anything though, not once, and I feel like he was angry enough at me about joining the military that it would have been brought up at least once.” He moves down a little so there breath is mingling and he only has to breath in to be close enough to kiss her. He does kiss her, because even though they’re still talking it’s very obvious to his body where this is heading.  
“I don’t think he was particularly thrilled at the idea of discussing sex with me, to be honest.” He can feel the slight stiffness of her shoulders when she admits this.  
“Did he say something to you?”  
“He told me not to make any mistakes before he left for the weekend once, which was enough for eternity. What’s brought about this line of questioning?” The last part is an afterthought, her lips cutting off any response, and her hands locking in his already mussed hair.  
He knows she doesn’t like talking about her father, so he relents into her mouth. He uses his tongue to try and taste the unspoken words, the answers to questions he won’t ask. He tries at least. Soon he’s lost all ulterior motives, and only wishes to taste her thoroughly.   
They’ve done this twice tonight, so their already practiced movements have been reduced to muscle memory, and his hands find her breasts quickly. His thumbs drag over her nipples with expert precision. His fingers knead into her breasts with the practiced ease of long time lovers. He moans with a hoarse familiarity at the feel of her soft skin.  
She responds not with fervor but with a sort of unabating passion. Less like flames and more like embers at this point in their love making.   
He can feel her dragging her hips against his length, and he’s not even sure when he pulled out of her after the last time, but he’s suddenly coming back to life beneath her ministrations. His penis is caught between the soft flesh of her pubic mound but not quite penetrating, and he can’t help but grind along to her rhythm.   
He gasps at a particularly ragged thrust and drags his hands down the length of her body to cup her ass. He takes a deep gulp of air before pulling his hand away from her to slam around the night stand. His hands clasping the small package desperately and bringing it back between them.  
Riza kisses his shoulder and neck while he opens the foil square with poise and he can’t help but be reminded of the shaking hands of a teenager with far less scar tissue.   
Her hands grab his, and he realizes, with a kind of humor that he is getting ahead of himself, more like that teenager sometimes than he’d like to admit. He puts the package between them, intertwining their fingers and allowing himself the enjoyment of her kiss, while his heart skips all sorts of erratic rhythms in his chest. He thinks they don’t kiss as much as he would wish, but her hips never stop moving against his, and their fingers untangle to become reacquainted with each others bodies. Their hands moving across the well known landscape of their scars with tenderness and grace. Sweeping over some that hold pleasant memories, the scar above her elbow from falling off a fence, the small cut on his wrist from slipping while carving a pumpkin. Barely brushing over those that don’t need to be thought of, the burns on her back, a bullet wound grazing his shoulder. Caressing the ones that remind them of how lucky they are, the burn on his stomach from the fifth laboratory, the cut on her neck from the promised day. Their mouths separate and Roy uses his lips to follow the trail of what will most likely become hickies to the place where her shoulder and neck meet and she loves to be kissed. She interrupts the familiarity of her ragged breathing to rain small kisses down onto the inky expanse of his hair, extracts one of his hands from her body to move it between her thighs, a question she doesn’t have to ask for it to be answered.   
He slips his fingers into her folds the way he has been taught to do after years of loving the same woman. Gently circles her clitoris the way she has show him that she does it herself. Changes pressure and speed to match the hitches in her breath and the pounding of his own heart. He forgets about the small foil package, but she never does and she pushes him away to reach for it, locking eyes with him while she slowly rolls the condom over his shaft, locking lips with him when she readjusts to roll on top of him, hands finding their way to his chest like always, but their bodies so close their nipples brush when she begins to sink down onto his length. She is wet not just from their abbreviated foreplay but from the times before this and so she has taken all of him inside her more quickly than before, but allows herself time to adjust anyway.  
She rolls her hips and takes a moment to smile at him, and he knows it’s because she loves him, even if she doesn’t say it with words so much as he would wish, and the combination of this and the movement of her body has his heart speeding and his stomach flips. The words “I love you” tumble out of his mouth without thought or need but he’s glad he said it anyway, because he doesn’t get to say it as much as he would wish. She kisses him gently, moving one hand from his chest to stroke his cheek. She moves it back to balance and begins to move against him, her body bouncing slightly, and the friction sending ripples of heat and electricity racing through his veins. He brings his hands to her hips to help her balance and to distract him momentarily, but as always he brings his thumb over to pay attention to her clit as she rides him.   
The third time, they find, is quieter and quicker and they know exactly what to do without even thinking or trying, and soon Roy is stopping her movements to hold off his impending finish and to flip them over, kissing her deeply before stroking and circling her clit in earnest, and watching in admiration as her her face begins to flush even more and she bites her lip. He begins to move inside her again, slowly pumping himself in and out of her and working himself back up to the brink before watching in complete adoration as she tenses, lets out a halting breath, and he can feel her walls tighten and and then begin to pulse around him as he moves inside her. He grinds his teeth and rests his head in the crook of her neck, thrusting in and out of her for a moment longer before finishing with a whooping, shuddering, breath and a slight ringing in his ears.   
They lay like that for a moment, her hands combing through his hair, and his arms slipping underneath her to hold her against his chest.   
At some point she has to go to the bathroom, but then he just cleans himself up, tying off the end of the condom and throwing it in the rubbish bin with the other two. He removes the towel she always, responsibly, puts down when they have sex and makes a point of not falling asleep until she comes back.   
“But did he ever actually say something specific?” He wonders aloud, mostly to annoy her. She snorts as she curls up against his chest and he doesn’t have to see her to know she’s smiling, or that she rolled her eyes.  
“Bringing up someone's deceased father isn’t exactly prime post coital pillow talk.”   
“Would you rather I whispered prose, my darling?”   
“How about we skip the whole pillow-” Her answer is cut short by her yawn.  
“I’m amenable to that.” He counters, resting his head against the pillow and gently strumming his fingers down her exposed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took a while to write. I'm not very good at writing smut so i apologize if that was painful to read/unrealistic. At least i've finally earned my 'M' rating though. Also, i might do a smuttier thing about them as teenagers which is why I have the 'underage' warning up, but I'll definitely put a warning up before that chapter as well.   
> (Also, 10 chapters, wow; I'm sure the people reading my superman fic wish I would update that as often as i update this, so feel lucky I guess)


	11. Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a kind of an explanation for the first chapter, in a weird way, but also i liked this okay? and I don't need to explain myself to you T.T

They've been drinking. What started as a few sips of mulled wine with their winter solstice celebration had quickly became a few glasses once Master Hawkeye went upstairs to be alone with his memories. They laugh, cheeks rosey and tongues heavy. He can’t imagine he could be sitting any closer to her, and with every chuckle and belly shaking laugh, their shoulders brush against each other. They're under a thick afghan, thighs pressed against each other from knee to hip, feet dangling off the couch and tangling up every so often.

They're talking about something or other, neither one of them completely focused on the words. Avoiding eye contact when they purposefully shift closer, hearts pounding as they pretend not to notice the new level of intimacy.

He tells her they should play a game. The words jumbled and quiet, but still heavy with implication. He explains the rules. Truth or Dare.

They both choose dare.

Wine coursing through their veins they make each other do ridiculous things. Riza dances some strange dance that goes to a song that isn't playing. Roy is made to finish a whole glass of wine in one drink. Riza is told to grab something stronger from the basement and soon the dares become... Twisted.

Roy takes off his shirt. She asks so quickly, and blushes when he takes the offending garment off clumsily but eagerly. He asks her to try and fit as much of the bottle in her mouth as she can and then falters for a moment, his laughing stopped when she does.

Her face is burning red and she makes him do some different dance, now they're both silent between dares, eyes drinking in each other's movements.

The new Amber liquid makes them too warm and Roy, cheeks pink with embarrassment, says she should take her shirt off too. She responds, wondering if that's a dare as well, and when he tells her it's only if she wants to, she complies.

He can't decide whether this is better, or just more frustrating.

He chooses truth after watching her take the soft Cotton button up off, afraid to move.

She leans in and with the pink lips he spends so much time watching, asks if he's ever kissed a girl or wanted to.

He kisses her then, and isn't sure whether that's an answer or not but she's so close and he knows without ever having been before that he's definitely drunk.

She responds to him quickly, hands running through his shaggy black hair, mouth moving against his roughly and excitedly. The both of them inexperienced and eager.

He has never kissed a girl before but he is glad he waited till now.

The game is over, but neither of them pay any mind to that as they move to get more comfortable against each other, hands exploring places they'd only imagined. She gasps when he touches her breasts and Roy thinks he's gone too far but she moves her hands to keep his there and bites her lower lip, brown eyes almost molten when they open to look at him. He wants to hold onto her breasts forever, and he knows he's being dramatic but when he begins to knead them he can only focus on the soft moan she makes and then he begins kissing her again and, God. He can't think about anything else anymore.

It's not that he doesn't think about taking her bra off, but by the time he's done just enjoying the feel of her underneath his palms, she shifts and then slips her hand between his thighs.

He moans her name, louder than he should, and they both freeze.

They're looking at each other with wide eyes, breath and hearts hammering in their chests almost too loud to hear, but there's a distinct creaking coming from the upstairs and then they fly apart. Suddenly sober with adrenaline they're throwing their shirts back on and secreting the whiskey back into the basement.

"This was a mistake." He whispers, harsher than he should, fear making his blood run cold.

Riza doesn't respond, instead clasping her white shirt buttons back together and purposefully not looking at him.

"I'm sorry."

She practically runs the way back to her room.

  



End file.
